


Needled

by Ericurrr



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Dark!Will Graham - Freeform, Frottage, Good Old Fashioned Fight Fucking, Gratuitous Descriptions of Menswear, Hand Wavy Knowledge of Tailoring, M/M, Mild Vore Vibes, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Really Iffy Breathplay, Rimming, Scratching, Tailor!Will Graham, Will Graham is a little shit, buster is a little shit, excessive use of puns, hannibal is a smitten kitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25303930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericurrr/pseuds/Ericurrr
Summary: Baltimore is plagued by two serial murders alike in their meticulous methods and flair for the dramatic. With that unpredictability, it’s more important than ever that the Chesapeake Ripper’s person-suit be well tailored. Lucky for him, the renown Will Graham has taken up residence in Baltimore, a reclusive tailor with the near clairvoyant ability to size up his customers’ needs with a glance. That talent has earned him social acclaim among high society in the Washington-Baltimore area, and no small interest from socialite Hannibal Lecter. Little does the Chesapeake Ripper know that Will’s already on to him, and has a few tricks up his sleeve.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 325
Collections: Hannigram_Reverse_Bang_2020





	Needled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [binmundane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/binmundane/gifts).



> Huge thanks to Bin who provided two fantastic art pieces ([link](https://ibb.co/8s4LJPs), [link](https://ibb.co/b1gNqP8)) and the inspiration for this work! You can find more of his work on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/binmundane) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/binmundane). Show him some love!

Will swirled his glass of whiskey as he observed the crowd filing into the Baltimore opera house for the opening night reception of _¡Figaro! (90210)_. A master of the bespoke suit, Will had been invited by the performance’s lead tenor as a thank you for the work on his most recent creation. 

While he generally eschewed public gatherings, he found that the occasional appearance kept social gadflies out of his shop unless they were serious customers. Plus, if he had to take in some sort of “high art,” _The Marriage of Figaro_ meets _Beverly Hills, 90210_ sounded a fair bit more exciting than the original. Mozart was all well and good, but there’s no way he could sit through a libretto about a lord trying to bone his house servant on her wedding night. His morality may be a bit shaky even on a good day, but that was just creepy. 

Will circled the room to find a corner to observe the gilded elite from afar, sipping his whiskey as he went. They were his customer base, and he could certainly turn on the charm when required, but he preferred to ghost along the periphery until drawn into conversation about his custom offerings. 

He found that working with his hands and the minute attention to detail required of tailoring proved a soothing distraction for his rapid-fire mind. And if he was going to be cursed with an abundance of mirror neurons and overactive empathy, he might as well make use of the skill for more than a party trick. Creating custom designs that were equal parts engineering and art did a fine job of padding his wallet, being his own boss meant that he never had to leave Buster at home, and being exceptional at what he did meant that his clientele was willing to overlook the yappy little terrier as an idiosyncrasy. Money made people weird. But Will had never been the most normal to begin with. 

While relatively new to the Baltimore social circle, he had sharpened his scissors among the old-monied, legacy elite of Virginia, earning a reputation for his uncanny ability to ascertain a customer’s personal style and needs from an assessing look and a couple of questions. His skill and demeanor earned him a polarizing reputation, as he was notorious for refusing outright to clothe customers at first glance, resulting in bitter detractors and ardent fanatics in equal measure. Some of whom were in attendance tonight.

As he circled the social sharks, he took note of their sartorial choices. A few of his dinner jackets stood out as jewels amidst fast fashion, interspersed with the occasional made-to-measure or competitor’s offering. He clocked the attendees as they crossed his vision, combining his formidable tailoring skills and particular brand of empathy: 40k millionaire in off-the-rack, cuckolded husband wearing the only formal wear he owned, bored male escort in a rental tux, nouveau riche feeling like hot shit in made-to-measure, wrinkled rental and flop sweat from too much coke in the bathroom, bespoke midnight blue tuxedo—he’d have to ask after the tailor later.

And then there was Hannibal Lecter. 

Will stopped in his tracks as Lecter entered the room and he catalogued the look: forest green velvet smoking jacket with lapels of black silk, matching velvet waistcoat, black silk bow tie set against a crisp white oxford shirt with onyx buttons, silk-piped tuxedo trousers, and formal black velvet slippers. A more eclectic look than most of the black tie attendees, but Lecter never did follow the flock. A lion amongst the lambs.

\---

Hannibal caught Will’s gaze from across the room, as if he could feel cool eyes assessing him. He exchanged pleasantries with aplomb as he navigated the reception, slowly circling his way toward the intriguing man with whom he had locked eyes. His long-time acquaintance, Mrs. Komeda, had linked her arm through his and practically glued herself to his side. Based on his physical description and the understated elegance of his evening wear, it could be none other than her husband’s reclusive tailor—Will Graham. She practically glowed as she gestured Hannibal over.

“Dr. Lecter! Oh, you’re just in time before the performance to meet my friend, the inimitable Mr. Will Graham.” 

Hannibal inclined his head in greeting and allowed the mask of the refined socialite to settle into place. 

“Bonsoir, madame. A pleasure as always to bask in your radiance. Mr. Graham, you wouldn’t happen to be _The Graham_ of the eponymous tailor shop?” 

“Guilty.” 

Mr. Graham extricated his arm from Mrs. Komeda’s winding grasp to shake hands with Hannibal, holding it a beat longer than required as they locked eyes. Hannibal knew for a fact that his well-practiced facade of urbane refinement was flawlessly executed, but he felt Graham’s piercing gaze seeking to breach the surface. 

“Delightful to finally meet you after hearing so much from Mrs. Komeda. You don’t often join us to see your work alive and in motion, Mr. Graham. Prefer it static on the dress form?”

Will mulled over Hannibal’s question as he swirled his whiskey. “I find beauty in potential. In coaxing truth from a blank canvas. What happens after I elevate that is for others to interpret.”

“Carving away negative space to reveal the predestined form within the marble, like a Renaissance sculptor.”

“Thankfully I work in a much more forgiving medium.”

Mrs. Komeda interjected. “Will and I met when he was fitting my husband. Created a transcendent suit for the charity gala. He’s the best in the whole Baltimore-Washington area, mark my words.”

“It's a bit like handwriting. We can all be taught to write, we just do it in different ways.”

“Nonsense.” She steamrolled over Will’s attempt at deflection. “No one else can do what you do. Nigh clairvoyant at recommending the perfect suit at little more than a glance.”

Hannibal weighed the rudeness of suggesting a demonstration of Will’s keen observational skills against the potential of learning more about how this fascinating man worked. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, there was little chance of him glimpsing through the stitching of the person-suit Hannibal wore. It was as meticulously tailored as anything from Will’s portfolio. 

“I know it’s terribly gauche to put you on the spot, but perhaps a demonstration?”

“Yes!” Mrs. Komeda interjected. “No better subject than this artful peacock.” 

“I try to leave an indelible mark wherever I go. You wound me so.” 

“Oh cry into your pocket square.” 

Will let out a huff of laughter at the exchange. “Considering you showed up in a green velvet ensemble, it won’t be boring. Can you walk a bit for me? Just a couple steps will do.”

Hannibal acquiesced to the request, arms slightly raised as he walked in a slow circle, displaying his outfit that evening from all angles. His amusement rose as Will’s eyes raked over him, taking in the minute physical details of his stature and gait, and reconciling those against the eclectic persona he projected. 

“Well, you clearly don’t shy from the sartorial. You like to stand out in the crowd by allowing your fashion choices to take center stage. I could see you in a strong fabric, maybe one milled by Dormeuil, rough without any of the bulkiness of tweed. A high level of detail to the pattern. Somewhere between a Prince of Wales check and a shadow check—ostentatious but approachable. Gradations of blue interwoven with hints of red and brown—muted but interesting. As for the cut, a three-piece slim fit, but not too form fitting, slanted pockets, four-button cuff. Lapels relatively wide, enough to work in conjunction with the bold look, but not be overwhelming. Paired with a bright periwinkle blue oxford shirt with a cutaway collar to convey openness. For the tie I’m thinking bold paisley in a full Windsor—no, too pedestrian. Balthus. You’re a Balthus knot guy. And a textured red pocket square to pick up on the subtle color within the check.” 

“Open. Eccentric. Approachable.” Will finished off his whiskey in a single slug. “That’s the look you would want.”

“You seem quite confident in your assessment.”

Mrs. Komeda let out a bark of laughter. 

“Don’t even pretend, Hannibal. I saw you in a variation of that exact ensemble at your last dinner party.” She turned toward Will in mock exasperation. “He used to throw such exquisite dinner parties. You heard me. Used to.”

“I am sure I will again. Once inspiration strikes. I cannot force a feast. A feast must present itself.” Hannibal raised his glass with teasing grandiosity.

“It’s a dinner party, not a unicorn.”

“Ah, but the feast is life. You put the life in your belly and you live.”

Mrs. Komeda tutted in exasperation and deposited her empty glass of champagne on a passing waiter’s tray. “As lovely as this has been, gentlemen, the dress circle calls!”

“Adieu, Mrs. Komeda. Until I can have you for dinner.” 

“That better be a promise.”

“Now, don’t press your luck.”

Will smirked at their banter as he too disposed of his glass with a nearby waiter. Free of Mrs. Komeda, Hannibal focused his attention on the extraordinary man before him. Will had so easily pinned his public aesthetic, the non-threatening, eccentric man-about-town he presented to the world. Perhaps he would prove an interesting diversion after all. Hannibal was loath to endanger the relationship with his current tailor, but it wouldn’t hurt to add an extra suit or dinner jacket to the rotation on the auspice of social nicety.

“You have a novel talent. May I have your card, Mr. Graham?” 

“Oh, I don’t do costumery, Dr. Lecter.” Will raised his eyebrow in a playful challenge before fishing out a business card from inside his breast pocket. “But give me a call if you’re actually interested in how I would, how did you phrase it, carve away the negative space to reveal what’s hidden in the marble?”

Will offered a half-smile and took two steps back, focusing on Hannibal before turning to blend seamlessly with the crowd entering the concert hall. Could he see a hint of what lay beneath his carefully crafted persona after only a first meeting? Or was he simply being flirtatious? While _¡Figaro! (90210)_ was unlikely to rise to the heights of Puccini, at least meeting the intriguing Will Graham had been worth the price of admission.

\---

> _BELTWAY BUTCHER BLEEDS BALTIMORE_
> 
> By Freddie Lounds
> 
> The Butcher is branching out from the Beltway to brutalize Baltimore. Police discovered two sensational murders in the early morning hours speculated to be his work.
> 
> True to the Butcher’s signature, the couple was posed in an elaborate tableaux. Although their identities have not been released, our sources confirm that the murders are of a male and female in their 20s to 30s. 
> 
> The couple were stripped nude and posed in a macabre embrace, as if the female was attempting to flee her captor even in death. The male was adorned with a handmade crown of twigs, and they were draped in fabric with both of their abdomens bisected and overflowing with flowers. The wounds were inflicted postmortem and the cause of death is as of yet undetermined.
> 
> The Beltway Butcher has operated in and around the D.C. Beltway area in the past five years. He is speculated to have evolved from a vigilante killer, as the commonality uniting many of his victims can best be categorized as “skeletons in the closet” both figurative and literal. Our sources confirm that police first assumed this to be the work of the Chesapeake Ripper, who overlaps with the Butcher in their penchant for dramatic postmortem staging. However, no trophies were taken from the bodies, casting doubt on the Ripper’s involvement...

Hannibal pursed his lips and breathed heavily through his nose at the newest article, tossing his tablet to the side as he processed the news. Try as he might, the Beltway Butcher had evaded his attempts at deciphering their identity through the years. It started as mere professional curiosity when the Butcher burst onto the scene several years back, leaving behind a bloody trail of artwork rendered from the human form. A vigilante killer was trite, but the Butcher elevated those common criminals in death beyond anything they could have achieved in life. 

Until now, the Butcher had kept primarily to the Virginia-D.C. area, as if taunting the FBI. But had chosen to play in the Ripper’s backyard last night. Had the Bureau gotten too close? Or was the Butcher also interested in the work of his competitor in high crime? 

His tablet pinged, notifying him of an update to Tattlecrime. A sensationalist at her finest, Freddie Lounds never let him down when it came to the gory details of his own crime scenes. True to form, Hannibal opened the tablet and was met with a picture of the Butcher’s latest tribute.

 _Ratto di Prosperina_. 

Why would the Butcher model his victims in an homage to a Berini’s _The Rape of Prosperina_? The statue depicted the abduction of the goddess Prosperina into the underworld by Pluto—but did that hint at the victims’ misdeeds, or was the meaning deeper? Hannibal zoomed in further to focus on the flowers. Roses, crocuses, violets, irises, lilies, and larkspurs cascaded from their abdominal cavities and clung to the fabric, which was arranged as if to preserve their modesty. The same flowers being collected by Persephone and her nymphs prior to her abduction by Hades. That confirmed the source material, but why?

He resigned himself to the unknown as he set aside the tablet and reigned in an uncharacteristic outburst of annoyance. Frustration not at all helped by the object of his obsession, the curly-haired, blue-eyed, abominably rude tailor making inopportune appearances in his carefully curated mind palace as if he belonged there. 

Hannibal was in desperate need of stress relief, but he refused to cave to his carnal desires, despite how tantalizing those blue eyes appeared gazing up at him, lips wrapped taut around his cock, warm mouth gaping with strain to take him down to the root, hands grasping at his buttocks, urging him forward to fuck faster, deeper...

Hannibal cleared his throat and shook his head as if to dislodge the physical image of the man his psyche had chosen to hyperfixate upon. Apparently, two meetings designed to tantalize and torment in equal measure were all it took for this man to worm his way into his affection, a feat shared by few. He had probably exchanged more words and spent more time with the man’s composite roaming the halls of his mind than the man himself.

Not that it was for lack of trying. Hannibal had modified his daily routine to take him by the storefront aptly titled “W. Graham,” in hopes of observing the man. But the gilded “By Appointment Only” on the shop door must mean just that, because Will was an unpredictable shadow of a man to track. He was more likely to see the man’s pugnacious little terrier barking and growling his displeasure at Hannibal from inside the shop window, than to catch a glimpse of Will ghosting through the background. And far be it from Graham to answer a knock at the door if it wasn’t “by appointment.” That just sent the furry hell child into an even more intense frenzy of defensive posturing. 

Miniature hellhound notwithstanding, Will did a fine enough job himself of driving Hannibal to exasperation. And all it took was a mere 20 minute “conversation,” if it could even be called that. 

Hannibal had contacted Will after the opera to schedule a meeting to take his suit measurements for a bespoke creation. And he had utterly exhausted himself trying to draw Will into conversation as he was maneuvered and rearranged by perfunctory hands. He was met with what must have been the taciturn Hyde to Will’s public-facing Jekyll. Every attempt at conversation was artfully deflected with varying responses, ranging from a series of noncommittal grunts and vocalizations, to teasing reassurances, lingering touches, and outright stonewalling regarding anything he intended to design. 

The single question Will had asked during measurements was, “Which side do you dress?” while skimming far too close to Hannibal’s nethers, as if to verify the left- or right- leaning answer himself. It had taken all of his fraying composure to keep his traitorous dick from stirring in response to the infuriating but gorgeous tailor between his legs. Moments later, Hannibal was seen out with a terse, “We’re done here. I’ll let you know when to return for the fitting.” 

Rude. Shockingly rude. But apparently, the wiring of his brain short circuited around Will Graham. He may not have made the rolodex yet, but the menu was ever changing. 

\---

Hannibal double checked his appearance in the reflection of the store window. Hair gelled and pocket square perfectly peaked, he entered W. Graham’s and was greeted by the terrier from hell growling menacingly at him from his pillow throne in the sun. Hannibal surreptitiously slipped the mongrel a morsel of fresh breakfast sausage he had prepared earlier, earning him a weary truce with the 15 pound sentinel. 

“Dr. Lecter, did you just feed Buster people food?” Will chastised from where he was seated behind a desk, adding the finishing touches to the pattern-based, first run of Hannibal’s bespoke mystery suit. He barely glanced up to greet Hannibal upon arrival, engaged in his current task. 

Hannibal savored the man before him, hunched over his work, curls illuminated by a stray ray of light streaming through the front window. He was simply clothed in trousers and a crisp white dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Hannibal noted the corded muscle of Will’s forearms as he was engaged in his task, strong enough to haul bolts of fabric and gentle enough for the most delicate of stitchwork. 

“I have found that the easiest way to fell the recalcitrant, man or beast, is through the belly.” 

“Well, I would appreciate it if you didn’t try and ‘fell’ my dog. You might think him a pest, but he’s really just an excellent judge of character.”

Hannibal bristled at the implication. “I am new. He is naturally skeptical of my presence.” 

Will looked up from the work he was conducting to lock eyes with Hannibal from across the room. “Was it at least grain free? Organic? My ‘beast’ eats better than I do most of the time.”

“Free range. Fat and happy from grazing the fruits of the earth.” 

Will hummed thoughtfully as he rose and pressed his hands to the small of his back, eliciting a solid crack as he stretched. He rolled his head side to side, working out the kinks from being seated in one position too long. Hannibal found himself distressingly occupied with the strength of the lithe body contorting before him, and the tantalizing expanse of neck he couldn’t help but imagine marking up. He wondered just what had happened to the aloof version of man who had taken his measurements last time.

“Dress down to your level of comfort and let’s try these pieces on.” 

Will gathered together the first run at a three-piece suit, roughly stitched to test its fit, and moved to position it beside Hannibal. 

“Do you have a room where I can divest myself of my current attire?”

“I do, but plumbing problems forced my hand. Closed for the foreseeable future. Don’t worry, I’ll draw the rest of the shades.”

Despite being highly out of the ordinary, Hannibal was curious what Will would do if he acquiesced to such a request. Let it never be said that the man was _uninteresting_. 

As Will moved across the room to draw the curtains, Hannibal stripped off his clothes. He folded each piece and draped it over the chair before him, dressing down to nothing but a pair of white silk boxers. 

“I’m glad to see that your boldness extends to undergarments as well.” Will moved in a circle as he appraised the doctor, eyes raking over newly revealed skin. 

“Cataloguing my form to ensure a successful fitting?”

“Most of my clients would have balked at the ask, let alone forgone the undershirt. You’re an odd one, Dr. Lecter.” 

“Normalcy is the death knell of imagination. It’s fine to be weird.”

“We are the weirdos, Mister.” Will flashed his eyes at Hannibal in an over exaggerated version of what could only be described as “crazy eyes.” The unexpected gesture must have broken through Hannibal’s otherwise well-crafted persona, as he felt his mask drop, replaced by a blank expression upon being confronted with such absurdity. 

“Done rebooting?” Will suppressed a smirk as he held out the jacket form to help Hannibal into the stitched up Frankenstein of a creation. 

“Normally I would ask that you try this on over the whole ensemble to get an idea of the accuracy of my measurements. But I was _very_ thorough last time. This is more to assess the attitude and flow of the piece.” Will crowded Hannibal’s space as he smoothed down the lapels, errant fingertips brushing gently over downy chest hair as he went.

Hannibal looked on in subtle bemusement as Will arranged the piece, savoring the scent of Will’s cologne: sweet amber and cedar with notes of jasmine and citrus. That was set against the smell of well-oiled leather and a hint of formaldehyde resin from freshly processed fabric. A heady combination that had Hannibal leaning in to breathe deeper. 

“You’re a non-traditional tailor, Mr. Graham.” 

“And you’re a non-traditional psychiatrist, Dr. Lecter. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you were fishing the entire last session for information about me. I mean, you could have just outright asked, ‘Tell me about your mother?’ Would have been more subtle.”

“I’m afraid I can’t turn off my powers of observation any more than you can.”

Will hummed as he pinched at the shoulder seam and murmured to himself about the benefits of a roped shoulder. 

“Yes, well I’m sure there are more interesting subjects of conversation: ‘How’d you end up with that incorrigible mutt that threatens to shred my trousers every time I enter the establishment?’ ‘Fancy the weather we’re having?’ ‘How ‘bout them Orioles?’” 

“Never in my life will I ask that final question unless in direct reference to an actual bird. And I like to think that the incorrigible mutt and I are working on a truce.”

Will apparently ran hot and cold and Hannibal had caught him in a more talkative mood today, and a more tactile one as well. Will’s nimble fingers traced the seams down the line of the suit and rested at his hip, pinning the area where a slanted pocket would be added.

“You are taking efforts above and beyond how my clients usually greet Buster. Then again, he’s a placid pup begging for belly scratches from the vast majority of them.” 

“I haven’t the slimmest idea why he would react in such a manner to my presence.” 

“Like I said, he’s an excellent judge of character, doctor.” Will teased with a smirk. His hand lightly trailing around the cuff of Hannibal’s suit as he moved to the back to appraise the silhouette.

Will hummed in discontent. “You know what, I don’t think I like the double vent back here. Can you hand me that seam _ripper_?”

Hannibal’s blood ran cold as Will’s voice dropped to emphasize the word Ripper like a title. His adrenaline spiked as he spun to confront the man, but Will was quicker, wrapping his forearm around Hannibal's neck and he stuck him with a needle and depressed the plunger. The fight left him quickly as his body turned sluggish, limbs not obeying his commands. Hannibal’s knees buckled as he crumpled to the floor at Will’s feet. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the vision of Will smoothing his hair back from his eyes, as he shushed Hannibal’s gurgled attempts at speaking. 

\---

Will scratched placidly between Buster’s ears from where they both crouched, overlooking Hannibal’s unconscious form on the floor. 

“Who's the good boy? Yes, Buster is the good boy.” Will cooed to the little terrier sitting calmly at his feet and looking up in adoration. “He can smell lies on people, just like daddy. Yes he can.”

“Now, what do you say we go and do bad things to the bad man and see what happens? Hmm? What do you think of that?” 

Buster continued to wag his tail in excitement, letting out an excited yap as Will rose to his feet.

“Yes, because doing bad things to bad people makes us feel good.”

Will moved further into the workspace to collect Hannibal’s fitted suit form. He would make the necessary adjustments to the pattern before cutting it out on the high quality fabric he had chosen for the final piece. He never left a task unfinished, devoted as he was to perfection across all his creations. 

He was particularly careful to wrap for disposal the hollow needle he had used to incapacitate Hannibal, attached to a plunger filled with sodium thiopental. He would need to dose Hannibal with another more long-acting agent soon, but there would be plenty of time for that. Buster sniffed at Hannibal’s prone form before huffing and following Will as he gathered his things. 

He could have surreptitiously stolen a blood sample, leaving the Ripper none the wiser, but planting evidence was trite. The Chesapeake Ripper deserved more than to be implicated by red blood cells flaked off from under the fingernails of a victim. 

“And good lord does he deserve a wardrobe intervention. That man wears entirely too much plaid.”

Plus Hannibal was fun to toy with. Will derived almost as much pleasure from riling him up as he did stalking his prey. And even more so when he was able to shock Hannibal into dropping the refined mask of an urbane gentleman to reveal the blank-eyed, cold-blooded predator beneath. That was the Ripper, staring out at him in a primal assessment of worth. 

Will intended to meet the man in all his glory later that evening. But he would have to tread lightly. He knew all too well how Hannibal would react to being cornered, much the same as he would—poorly. He wasn’t ready for their fun to come to an end just yet. 

\---

Consciousness came back to Hannibal slowly, lucidity creeping at the edges. He could hear the soft sounds of classic rock and humming from the same man who had called him Ripper as he collapsed at his feet. _The Butcher_. The manipulative, mercurial honeytrap designed to intrigue and infuriate in equal measure. Hannibal allowed himself a moment of regret for his damnable curiosity before that emotion transmuted into indignation.

His upper lip twitched slightly, attempting a snarl. It was the only part of him that seemed responsive at the moment. The rest of his body was still thwarting his attempts at movement so he remained in mock slumber, calmly taking note of his surroundings. If the scents and sounds surrounding him were correct, he was in the basement of his own home. Puzzling, but it may provide him with the upper hand.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Will’s voice cut across the room. “Open your eyes if you’re able. The paralytic should be wearing off soon.”

Hannibal fought to blink away the heaviness of his eyelids and clumsily rolled his head toward the sound.

“Hello.” 

Will greeted Hannibal with a reserved smile, elbow deep in a man’s chest cavity. 

Hannibal took in the scene before him, Will dressed in one of his plastic kill suits, calmly eviscerating someone with as much regard as if he were field dressing an elk. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed this, but I couldn’t resist. Who is your tailor?” Will teased as he removed the heart and placed it on a nearby surgical tray.

“Wouldn’t do to reveal all my secrets.”

“Yes, I found a whole refrigerator filled with your _secrets_.”

“And what do you plan to do with this new found knowledge?”

Will hummed in consideration and met Hannibal’s gaze. “I haven’t decided. I suppose that depends on your actions.”

“I find myself woefully unable to act at the moment.” 

Will huffed a low laugh. “I did say that would wear off, and then,” Will paused in his work to consider the implications of Hannibal free to act in the confines of his own home. “I suppose then we’ll see what you do.”

Hannibal’s forearm twitched, his fingers beginning to respond to commands. “Within every choice lies the possibility of regret. What if my actions and your hopes do not align?”

“A life without regret would be no life at all. That said, you might want to avoid eating my liver. My 20s were wild and I wouldn’t want you to regret consuming any part of me.”

“I can work within those constraints.” 

Will beamed at Hannibal, a broad smile cutting across his face. The man looked genuinely unperturbed to be in the same room as him. He even turned his back on Hannibal as he moved from the surgical table to the sink to trim and clean the organ he had harvested.

“I am curious, why not just kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you. Not now that I finally find you interesting.”

Hannibal hummed in consideration as he flexed and released muscle groups, priming sluggish limbs into wakefulness. “You seem quite relaxed in my presence, if I am who you accuse me of being.” 

“I don’t need an admission about who _or what_ you are, Hannibal. The kill room we’re standing in is admission enough. And you don’t need an admission from me. I’m literally engaged in the act of my media moniker.” Will scoffed at that last point and gesticulated broadly to encompass the eviscerated corpse behind him. 

“I would argue that butchery is more my forte, though you seem to be doing an admirable job.”

Will shot Hannibal a coy smile over his shoulder at Hannibal’s cheek. “Plastic suits and murder toybox aside, our darkness communes fine without words. You,” he turned toward Hannibal and punctuated his point at the tip of a scalpel. “Have just been staring at my ass too hard to listen.”

“It would make a succulent rump roast.” 

Will barked out a laugh at that admission as he finished his work and began wrapping the heart in butcher paper. Hannibal considered the man before him with new eyes, wondering how he could have missed the barely concealed feral grace. Until he found himself sidetracked by the way Will’s ass filled out his trousers, visible even through the plastic suit, and realized the honest truth to that answer.

“You seem quite confident that I will make the right choice, despite offering me little in the way of what my options entail.”

“I’m opening your eyes to the truth of what we could be together. But I don’t want an unwilling partner, so I’m giving you a choice in the matter. Fighting, fucking, fleeing—although that’s my least favorite option—it’s all on the table _mon cheri_.” Will lapsed into a bit of Cajun inflected French as he threw a wink Hannibal’s way before returning to his heart.

“You speak of consent and choice but here I am, helpless in your presence.”

“Crossing boundaries is different from violating them. If I wanted to violate you, trust me, I had plenty of opportunity.”

Hannibal moved to leverage himself off the table, muscles weak but responsive. He moved on soft feet toward Will’s back, furtively approaching the man as he spoke. When he was within striking range he darted forward to wrap Will in a choke hold but was met with nothing but a blur of curly hair as Will ducked to twist out of his grasp.

“Fighting it is.”

Will smiled, dark and fierce in the face of Hannibal’s indignant rage. Hannibal grabbed the surgical tray from beside the sink and swung it at Will. The wrapped heart rolled onto the countertop as the tray glanced off Will’s shoulder to connect with the side of his head. 

“So callous with my heart.” Will teased as he absorbed the shock and grasped for the scalpel, slashing it in Hannibal’s direction. 

Hannibal angled back to avoid being stabbed in the torso, allowing the scalpel to slice a line across his bicep instead. He moved to deflect the next slash, using the surgical tray as a shield. Will shook off the impact as Hannibal dropped the tray and grabbed his wrist, moving behind his back to savagely twist his arm while dodging blows from Will's non-dominant hand. 

Will hissed in pain as the scalpel clattered to the floor and Hannibal continued to viciously twist at his arm, threatening to dislodge his shoulder from the socket. He thrust his head backwards and jarred Hannibal’s jaw upward with an audible crack of teeth, shocking enough for him to loosen his grasp. Will extricated himself and jolted backwards. He feinted left before ducking and leaping forward in explosive motion. His shoulder jammed into Hannibal’s midsection, taking him down hard and knocking the wind from him against the cold concrete floor. Will straddled Hannibal’s thighs, a plastic-sheathed incubus grinning in delight as he pinned Hannibal’s wrists above his head. 

Hannibal attempted to buck Will off, but merely succeeded in demonstrating how interested his dick was in the current power dynamic. No one had met the predator within and initiated his brand of bloody play with a smile. 

“How you get anything done in this slippery murder condom is a mystery. What about when it’s slicked in blood? That would certainly make things...hard.” Will crowded Hannibal’s space to whisper the question into his ear, eliciting a full body shiver from the man that had nothing to do with the fact that he was near naked on the cold floor and everything to do with the way Will was grinding his rapidly filing erection against Hannibal’s groin.

“Happy to demonstrate the answer to your question.”

Hannibal considered taking a chunk from Will’s cheek with his teeth, but it would be a shame to mar such a glorious canvas. He settled on cracking the crown of his forehead into the bridge of Will’s nose, delighting in the crunch of cartilage and spray of blood. Will blinked through pain and reflexive tears as Hannibal succeeded in reversing their positions. 

Hannibal growled and tongued at his split lip from above. “We can keep up with this until one of us is dead on the surgical table, but perhaps we can move this along in a more mutually beneficial direction.”

“I’m open to the suggestion.” Will arched up to lick at the column of Hannibal’s throat and drag his lower teeth across the man’s Adam’s apple, smearing blood and sweat across Hannibal’s jaw as he drew back to lock eyes with the man. “As much as I enjoyed toying with you, none of my interest was false.”

Hannibal crushed his mouth to Will’s in a vicious facsimile of a kiss, moving to free him from the plastic coveralls without breaking contact. Will chuckled at the cannibal seething with impatience atop him, as he wriggled out of the plastic, pulling down his pants and kicking off shoes as he went. Hannibal had torn open his white dress shirt and was working on leaving a bruising trail of kisses down the column of his neck. 

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined marking this up.” 

Will hissed as Hannibal bit hard at his collar bone, leaving a bruising wreath behind and drawing back with blood on his teeth. Will lapped into Hannibal’s mouth to taste himself upon the man. 

“Probably as many times as I’ve imagined you on your knees for me.” 

Will wrapped his calves around Hannibal’s thighs and pulled the man forward until their bodies were flush. He raked fingernails hard down Hannibal’s back and around his hips, eliciting a hiss and leaving welts in his wake. Will snaked a hand between them to pull at their boxers enough to free their cocks. He wrapped his hand around them both, blood and precum slicking the way as Hannibal continued to bite and bruise his way down the porcelain canvas of Will’s body. 

“Fuck yes. Devour me.” 

With a groan Hannibal tore back from Will and divested them both of their boxers. “Beautiful, wanton, dangerous creature.” He bent to lick a hot strip up Will’s cock and sucked around the head with a swirl of his tongue, before taking Will as deep as he could, using his hand to stroke what didn’t fit in his mouth. 

Will twined both hands into Hannibal’s hair and pulled back hard. Hannibal groaned around his cock as Will thrust into Hannibal’s throat a half dozen times, threatening his gag reflex despite the hand wrapped around his dick to keep him from going too deep. Hannibal pushed back and released Will’s dick to glare up at him.

“Rude.” 

“Bite me.”

Hannibal smirked and darted to the left to sink his teeth into Will’s inner thigh, hard enough that it threatened to break skin. Will let out a breathy shout, his hips thrusting into air in search of friction as Hannibal sucked at the spot, leaving behind a bruise in the middle of a corona of teeth. 

He leaned back slightly to observe his work, examining the patchwork of welts and bruises dotting Will’s skin. The man urged him upward by wrapping his thighs around Hannibal’s sides and nudging him forward to initiate a kiss, a bloody clash of teeth and tongues.

“I want you inside me. Or me inside you. Fuck, either works.”

“Patience. I intend to savor my feast.” 

At that Hannibal shoved Will roughly onto his back and grasped behind his thighs, manhandling his ass into the air. Will held the back of his thighs, legs spread to expose himself to Hannibal as the man sucked at his balls and perineum before trailing his tongue downward to lap at his hole. He licked and sucked at the rim, humming in delight as Will’s hole fluttered and relaxed at his teasing. He darted his tongue into Will’s body and raked his teeth lightly over the rim, causing Will to throw his head back against the concrete with a moan. Hannibal alternated between using his fingers and tongue to make room for himself in Will, and would have continued to satisfy his oral fixation if it weren’t for being inadvertently kneed in the orbital socket. 

“Sorry.” Will had dislodged him from his prize as he fumbled blindly in the pocket of his discarded trousers, withdrawing a packet of lube and a condom. He passed the lube to Hannibal and tossed the condom off to the side.

“Too late for the safe sex talk considering how much blood we’ve already shared.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints from you.”

“You will if you try and use it to lube your way.”

Hannibal tore at the corner of the foil packet with his teeth and poured it into his hand, slicking his dick and rubbing the rest across Will’s hole, still puffy from his ministrations. He dipped a teasing finger in. “I want you to be dripping with me. Marked inside and out.” 

“Yes. Fuck.” Hannibal lined up his dick and pressed inward, Will’s body yielding easily to the intrusion. He groaned, breath punched out of him as Hannibal bottomed out. Will snarled forward and captured the man’s mouth in a claiming kiss, hand wrapped around the back of Hannibal’s neck to press their foreheads together. 

“Don’t you dare fucking hold back.” 

Hannibal nipped at his lip before setting a brutal pace, Will angling to meet him with each thrust, legs wrapped around slim hips. He tangled one hand to tug at Hannibal’s chest hair, and raked the fingernails of his other hand down Hannibal’s chest, catching a nipple on the way down and eliciting a hiss from the man. Will reached that hand between them, fingers spread to feel where they were connected, revelling in the heat and slapping sound of their joining. He threw his head back and groaned in pleasure at the finding, moving to stroke himself in tandem with their rhythm. 

“Harder. Fuck. Please.”

Hannibal moved to angle Will onto his upper back and shoulder blades at the request, bending him near in half and immobilizing him by wrapping a hand around the base of his neck before slamming hard into Will from above, setting an even rougher tempo. He met Hannibal’s gaze, the darkness in both of their eyes calling forth to meet one another. 

Will covered Hannibal’s hand with is own and pushed it forward to tighten the man’s grip around his neck, moving his other hand to pull at his cock. He could feel Hannibal’s grasp tighten as he felt his shallow breathing constrict to nearly nothing. He tugged desperately at his cock, feeling his pleasure begin to crest as his lungs burned and spots began to dance at the corners of his vision. Abruptly, Hannibal released the hold on his neck and Will gasped for air, convulsing as he came hard, his own spend painting his face. Hannibal ducked down to lick up what he could as he thrust several more times and came with a roar. He rode out the last aftershocks of their mutual pleasure before withdrawing and eased Will back into a supine position. 

Hannibal collapsed on his side, arm pillowed on his bicep as they both caught their breath. Will groaned as he felt Hannibal press two fingers into his thoroughly used hold, pressing the leaking cum back into his body. He batted away the man’s arm, and Hannibal relinquished his claim, wiping his hand off on Will’s battered dress shirt which looked as wrung out as he felt. 

“Thanks for that.” 

“It’s a lost cause. But you’re in luck. I know a tailor.”

Will laughed and rolled to stand up with a groan. “Your knees are going to hate you tomorrow. My back already does. Who would have thought that fucking on a concrete slab would be so uncomfortable.”

Hannibal hummed in consideration and rose to embrace Will. “I do have quite a comfortable bed upstairs. And a shower. Unless you prefer the literal canvas of blood, sweat, and tears you’re wearing.” 

“And cum.” 

“Believe me, I haven’t forgotten.” Hannibal reached around behind Will to stroke between his cheeks before grabbing a generous handful of the man’s ass.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I am.” 

“Vicious.”

“Also true.”

“Mine.”

“If you’ll have me.” 

Will hummed with pleasure and initiated a searing kiss. “Good. I did tell you I don’t do unwilling partners, even if that man is a murderous psychopath.”

“You’ll find I hardly fit neatly into that category. I am completely in my right mind.” 

“As am I.”

“Let’s clean up and then we can deal with...” Hannibal waved his hand in the direction of the corpse still cooling on his surgical slab. “Whatever you have planned for that.”

“Hold on.” Will extricated himself from his handsy cannibal and maneuvered around the evidence of their violent passion to retrieve the heart wrapped in butcher paper. “Need to put this on ice.” 

“Terrible, wonderful man. What did I do to deserve you.” 

“You spoke a language no one else but me could hear, let alone understand.” Will tilted his head toward the stairs. “Come on. Let’s go see how many of those silk throw pillows Buster gutted while we were down here.” 

“What? Will!” He took off with a dash, laughing the entire way as Hannibal gave chase.

\---

> _RIPPER AND BUTCHER, MURDER HUSBANDS?_
> 
> By Freddie Lounds
> 
> The Chesapeake Ripper brutalized the body of a young man, discovered in a copse of trees off the waterfront in the early morning hours. The second victim to fall prey to a serial killer in Baltimore this month, the man in his mid-twenties was posed in an elaborate postmortem display. Our sources speculate this could be the work of the Chesapeake Ripper, as the man’s heart was also missing at the scene. 
> 
> Details of the victim’s identity have yet to be released by investigators but according to our sources, they speculate that the man was posed in a manner reminiscent of Pre-Raphaelite painter, Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s _Prosperina_ , depicting the goddess of the underworld. You can see the similarities in the side-by-side comparison of the painting and the photo we obtained from a passing jogger. The man was seated upright with both hands curled inward upon his chest, clutching a pomegranate with a slice removed. He was draped in yards of ruched, green velvet fabric and his shoulder-length curls were pinned back from his face, to reveal a placid smile. 
> 
> That smile is an eerie post-mortem departure from the original art, achieved by excising a section of the cheek muscle and stitching together the ends to create a haunting expression on an otherwise lifeless face. Six pomegranate seeds were found within the man’s mouth, but there was no evidence of him having consumed the fruit prior to death. A mocking tribute to a man ushered into death by Baltimore’s most infamous murderer.
> 
> The surgical trophy taken from the scene suggests that this is the work of the Chesapeake Ripper, while the subject matter of the postmortem display hints at a response to the Beltway Butcher’s grisly murder scene depicting the same artistic muse earlier this month. Are these two twisted minds speaking to one another through their murders? And if so, has the Ripper agreed to join the Butcher as his partner in the underworld, as the subject matter suggests? The two scenes have led some to question whether the two most prolific serial murderers currently active in the area have teamed up to terrorize the eastern seaboard. While others have speculated on whether the Butcher and Ripper are actually one in the same, the dual expression of a single psychosis. 
> 
> Tell us your theories in the comment section. And follow our social media to stay up to date with the latest developments of this ongoing case.

**Author's Note:**

> Do what Freddie says and follow me on Twitter: [Ericurrrr](https://twitter.com/ericurrrr)


End file.
